


I'm Not Okay, But I Think You Already Knew That

by Radiday



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiday/pseuds/Radiday
Summary: The moral of the story is that he’s not okay.He hasn’t been in a long time.





	I'm Not Okay, But I Think You Already Knew That

**Author's Note:**

> I need to post this and get it out of my head because there's def no real plot but please take it from me

He has these… moments. He calls them moments because he doesn’t like to call they by their actual name. Moments where his vision goes dark around the edges, when he feels like he’s hearing through a tunnel. Moments when he gets nauseous and shaky and has to stop and hold onto the sink to keep himself from falling over.

He had his first one when he was sixteen, back when his father first got sick. He hid them well enough until FP found him in his bedroom the day after his father’s funeral, crouched in a corner, knees drawn up and rocking back and forth. He couldn’t breathe, that’s all he remembers telling FP, that he  _couldn’t breathe._

Fred remembers thinking it was a heart attack… stress can cause those right? Lord knows he was under his fair share of it.

The next thing he remembers is lifting his head from his knees to find FP and Mary staring back it him. Why was it always them?

FP thought they should go to the hospital, but Mary said no, there’s no need for that. It was a panic attack.  _Just a panic attack, Freddy. It’s okay. I used to get them sometimes, too._

It happens a few more times that month, but after that it doesn’t happen in front of anyone again for years. It doesn’t happen  _at all_ for years.

He gets one the month before Archie’s born, when he’s working late at the site. He calls FP and he’s there in minutes, at his side, rough hands gripping each other for dear life. Fred’s absolutely petrified about bringing a child into this world. About hurting them or leaving them.  _What if I die like my dad did_? He asks, looking up at FP with wet eyes.

_That’s not going to happen,_ FP says.

Years later, it almost does happen. But Fred doesn’t know that yet.

The moment passes almost as quickly as it came on, and FP asks if he should call Mary.  

Fred says no, she doesn’t need any extra stress right now.

Neither of them ever bring it up again.

Surprisingly, these moments don’t come back as badly as he’d expected when they pulled another red headed teenager out of a river. Or when Alice Cooper informs him that his teenaged son had been having sex with his adult teacher. 

He’s just as surprised when they don’t come back after the shooting, but part of him thinks he may have been too high to notice even if they had.

No, the panic attacks don’t come back. That’s when the migraines return.

The panic attacks - the real, soul-sucking, exhausting panic attacks, don’t come back until Archie goes to juvie.

He'd be lying if he said they just completely vanished. He _knows_ they were always there, lingering, waiting to take center stage. He’d had moments of being breathless, dizzy when he was in the hospital, and while he’d tried to hide it, Betty Cooper noticed one afternoon and informed the doctor. The doctors and nurses told him that it was probably the antibiotics, but one lingering nurse stayed back and put her hand on his and told him about how anxiety can present itself with physical symptoms. How we can feel sick and nauseous and tired because we’re anxious, and not even realize it.

He wants to tell her that he  _knows_ , he’s been dealing with this half his life, but he doesn’t, because he’s tired and his body aches like never before, and because it feels good to have someone know what he’s feeling without him having to tell them.

The nurse is right, Fred thinks.

His anxiety presents itself in different ways. Migraines, panic attacks, sleepless nights. 

The moral of the story is that he’s not okay. 

He hasn’t been in a long time.

* * *

He’s done a good job of hiding it all these years, from everyone except FP and Mary, because there’s little he can hide from either of them.

But then he and FP fall apart and Mary moves to Chicago, and suddenly he’s got nobody to talk to.

So, he keeps it together. For years, he fills the cracks in his soul like he does cracks in the buildings he constructs.

Messily, tiredly, with hopes that it’s enough. That the building won’t come tumbling down.  

It works for years, but then he gets shot and his son goes to prison, and suddenly both Mary and FP are back in his life.

There’s a part of him that doesn’t  _want_ them back. He’s done this on his own for years, all while raising his son and running his company, so who’s to say he needs them now?

What he doesn’t realize, though, is that he had Archie. A welcome distraction, a friendly face. Archie was there for him even when he didn’t know he needed someone, especially as he got older.

He was there, a comforting hand in Fred’s for the entirety of his hospital stay. There to give encouragement during physical therapy, when Fred was just about ready to give up.

But now his son is gone, his baby taken from him. And Fred had no idea how to handle it.

* * *

Mary comes, and does what she does best. She shines in court, like always, defends their son against the mobster they both just so happened to go to high school with.

And then she leaves, but not because she wants to. Because she has to. She hasn’t given up yet. Fred knows she’ll return to Chicago and spend every free minute working on their son’s case. But Fred still has to make an effort not to be bitter.

But FP’s there. He and Tom Keller vow to do whatever it takes to get Archie out. They work deep into that first night, brainstorming ways to get an innocent boy out of juvie.  _His_ innocent boy.  
  
Tom heads out just after midnight, but FP doesn’t move a muscle. Says he’ll stay. Fred tells him he doesn’t have to do that, that he’ll be fine, but FP gives him a look that tells him they both know that’s not true.

FP stays, that night and the next, and for the next two months, off and on, until Archie gets out.

And Fred manages to keep it together the entire time. Sure, he wakes up from what little sleep he gets with pounding headaches, but they’re not migraines, and he still has moments when he feels like the room’s a hundred degrees and he’s going to pass out, but at least it’s not a panic attack.

That’s what he tells FP, anyways.

It’s after Archie comes back that he starts to fall apart, that the cracks start to show up faster than he can patch them up.

Archie’s in the living room elbow deep in history homework the first time he notices. Fred’s making dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, Archie’s favorite, when his hands start to shake. He tries to ignore it, but his stomach is turning and his ears start to ring. 

Archie comes in when he hears the spaghetti sauce jar smash onto the floor. “Dad, what the heck?” Archie says, stepping carefully around the jar of sauce and glass that’s now splattered across the kitchen. He watches his dad stare blankly at the floor, blinking, knuckles white clutching the sink. “Dad, are you okay?” 

Fred finally looks up, blank stare still intact. “I- I, uh, dropped the sauce.”

“It’s okay,” Archie says, concern and uncertainty evident in his voice. “Here, I’ll clean it up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Fred says, putting a shaking hand out. “Watch the glass. It’s okay.”

“Here, just give me those-“ Archie says, reaching for the paper towels in Fred’s hand.

“No, no I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?" 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re okay?” Archie asks again.

 “Yeah, yeah,” Fred says breathlessly, turning away from Archie. “Watch your step.”

Archie backs away, eyes lingering on the skeleton standing before him. He’s seconds away from calling FP, or maybe 911, because his dad just looks  _so tired_ and he’s got no idea how to help him.

He tries that night to talk about it over dinner, but Fred brushes it off like he does every time someone tries mention his well-being. 

“Arch, it’s spilled sauce. Happens to everyone. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He says it in a way that tells Archie to conversation’s over, the same way he does when Archie asks to go out on a school night.

So he lets it go, desperately hoping it’s a one off.

But it’s not.

* * *

Veronica’s decided to have a party at Pop’s, half to spite her father, and half at Archie’s request. Maybe Fred just needs to get out of the house.

The party’s just about all cleared out when Fred emerges from the back where he’d been helping Pop with the dishes. He’s looks pale and he’s pulling at his collar. He slides into the booth across from Jughead and Archie, next to FP, and tries to play it cool. 

“Dad, are you okay?” Archie asks, watching Fred shift nervously in his seat.

Fred looks up at Archie and nods but doesn’t try to talk. He doesn’t know if he can stomach it.

“You want some water, Fred? Something to eat?” FP asks, subtly squeezing Fred’s leg.

Fred shakes his head.

“Okay, well let’s go home, Dad. Party’s pretty much over,” Archie offers, forcing nonchalance.

“No, no,” Fred says finally, his voice hoarse like he hasn’t used it in days. “I’m okay- I, uh, I just need some air. I’m hot,” he adds, pulling at his collar again.

“Okay, come on. Let’s go outside, get some fresh air,” FP says, gesturing for Fred to get up.

He does, and immediately makes for the door, not seeing the gentle hand FP puts up to tell the boys it’s okay.

He finds Fred outside, leaning against the door, gasping for air. “I can’t breathe,” he says, eyes frightened and tearful. “FP.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” FP soothes, stepping in front of Fred so his hands rest on Fred’s shoulders. “You wanna sit down? Let’s sit down,” FP says.  

As he begins to help Fred sit on the top step, FP feels Fred go limp under his touch. It catches him off guard, so he’s not prepared for the sudden influx of dead weight, and he and Fred both go tumbling down the stairs.

FP gets up and brushes himself off. “Are you okay, Freddy?” FP asks, but he doesn’t get a response.

Because Fred’s unconscious.

* * *

The panic that ensues afterwards is such that Fred would be glad he’s not conscious to remember it, FP thinks. Fred’s always hated fuss.

Pop calls an ambulance, and this time it comes. It’s not as much of emergency as the last time Fred was taken to the hospital, but that doesn’t lessen the worry that bubbles in Archie’s stomach.  
  
Archie rides with him, while FP and Jughead take Fred’s truck, racing down the road far too fast, far too reminiscent of Fred’s last hospital visit.

Fred’s awake by the time they meet the ambulance there, already swatting away the paramedics.

“I’m fine,” FP can hear him saying. “I don’t need to be here, Archie.”

“Let’s just let them take a look at you,” one of the paramedics says.

Jughead and FP are thrust into the waiting room, where they stay until Archie comes out, rubbing the back of his neck the same way Fred does when he’s nervous.

“He’s okay,” Archie says before either of them get a word out. “They said they couldn’t find anything wrong. Said it was probably a panic attack,” he ends quietly.

FP feels his stomach flip. It’s not news to him, Fred’s had panic attacks in front of him before. But this might just be the first time a doctor has ever confirmed it.

“They’re prescribing him something to take if it happens again,” Archie continues, pulling FP out of his thoughts. “They’re sending it to Parker Pharmacy.”

“We can pick it up on the way home,” Jughead says, hands shoved in his pocket.

“They’re just getting his discharge papers together,” Archie says, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“Great,” FP says, searching his pockets for the keys to the truck. “I’ll pull the car around.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go help you with your dad’s things,” Jughead says awkwardly, gesturing to the direction of Fred’s bed.

By the time they get back to Fred, he’s trying to convince the nurse that he doesn’t need a wheelchair.

“I’m fine,” Fred says, waving the nurse off.

The nurse, who was also one of Fred’s nurses after the shooting, laughs and shakes her head. “Now, Fred. It’s hospital policy. You had no problem with the wheelchair the last time I saw you.”

“I had just gotten shot the last time you saw me.”

The nurse cocks her head and gives Fred a look, and he finally resigns and sinks into the chair. Archie wheels him out, flagged by Jughead and the nurse, who waits until Fred is securely in the truck before leaving.

“I’m sorry about all this, guys,” Fred says once he’s buckled in.

FP puts the car into gear and pulls onto the road. “Nothing to be sorry about, Freddy.”

Fred opens his mouth to respond, but then notices that FP’s going west. Their homes are in the other direction.

“Where are we going?”  Fred asks.

“Archie said they were sending the prescription to Parker, didn’t he?” FP says, looking at Archie in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” Archie says from the backseat. “That’s what the doctor said.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need that,” Fred says slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Well we can’t just leave the prescription at the pharmacy.”

Fred shrugs. “I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve done-,” FP starts, before looking quickly back at the road then back at Fred. “You’ve done it before? When have you done that before?”

Fred laughs but doesn’t respond, turning his head to wink at the boys. Archie and Jughead share an amused look.

They do pick up the prescription, despite Fred’s protests. Or rather, FP picks up the prescription while the others wait in the car.

The pharmacist explains that the medication is an anxiolytic, and that Fred shouldn’t be drinking while on it. She runs through the list of side effects, and for once, FP listens to every word.

FP practically shoves a pill down Fred’s throat as soon as he gets back in the car.

“It says I’m supposed to take it as needed,” Fred argues.

“We just got out of the emergency room. You need it,” FP says.

Fred’s too exhausted to argue, so he takes the bottle from FP’s hand and swallows a pill dry.

By the time they pull into the driveway, Fred’s half asleep.

FP shakes him awake and leads the group into the house. Fred doesn’t say much to anybody, just mumbles that he’s going to take a shower. He knows he’s got to face them sometime, but the longer he can put it off, the better. Part of him hopes FP and Jughead will be gone by the time he comes back down.

He gets out of the shower and sits on his bed, closing his eyes for just a minute…

* * *

He wakes up to knocking on the door. The clock on his bedside tells him he’s asleep for two hours. Two hours longer than he had planned.

“Dad?” Archie says, opening the door and poking his head in. “Are you okay?”

Fred sits up and tightens the robe around his waist. “Yeah, sorry, Arch. I fell asleep.”

“That’s okay,” he says with a shrug. “I figured.”

“Did Jug and FP leave?”

Archie shakes his head. As if on cue, Jug pops in head in the door. “Hey, Mr. A. Dad’s making tea downstairs.”

Archie and Fred share a look. “Your dad’s making tea?” Archie asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Jughead laughs. “It’s a surprise to me too.” He turns back to Fred. “You coming?”

Fred nods. “Yeah, yeah. Let me just go to the bathroom.” He starts towards the door, before suddenly pausing and turning his whole body to face the boys. “You guys…know I’m okay, right?”

They hesitate, and Archie opens his mouth but no words come out. “Yeah, Mr. A,” Jughead supplies, sensing Archie’s hesitation. “We know.”

“Good,” Fred says, nodding. “Because I am.”

Once he’s in the bathroom, Jughead turns to Archie and guides him out of the master bedroom. “See, man. He’s okay. He said so himself.”

Archie shakes his head as they enter his room. “He’s lying, Jug. He always says he’s okay.”

Jughead doesn’t know what to say, because he knows Archie’s right. “He’s going to be okay,” he says, feeling the useless words hang in the air between them. “It’s not your fault.”

“Are you kidding, Jug? My dad has been so stressed out about out all this that he literally fainted! How is that not my fault? All he ever does is take care of me and everyone else and I didn’t even notice that he hadn’t slept in weeks?”

“Arch, you were in jail-“

“That’s not an excuse! He’s my dad! He passed out because he spent the last two months trying to get me out and none of us thought to ask how he was doing!”

Jughead’s going to respond but he sees something moving out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head to see Fred, a sad look in his eyes.

Jughead thinks he’s going to say something about how it’s not Archie’s not his fault, but instead, he just asks, “Are you boys coming?” 

* * *

They drink their tea in an awkward silence, the kind that tells Jughead that Fred heard everything they were saying upstairs.

It’s getting late, but when FP suggests that Jug and Archie go upstairs, Jughead knows it’s best to do as his father says. FP watches them go up the stairs, then turns back to Fred, who’s resting his chin on his hand against the arm of the sofa.

“What’cha thinking?” FP asks.

Fred shakes his head and looks at FP blankly. “Nothing.”

“Fred.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Fred says, turning his head so he doesn’t have to look his friend in the eye. “I’m fine, FP.”

FP knows that’s not true. So does Fred, if he’s being honest.

But if there's one thing they know for sure, it's that nobody in this town is honest.

“Fred, you’re not sleeping. I’ve barely seen you eat anything the last two months.” 

“I said I’m fine,” Fred whispers. 

“You’re not fine, Freddy. You’re not. Your hands shake. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You’re making yourself sick. You  _passed out_.”

“I’m-“

“If you say fine, I might just punch you in the face,” FP says, wagging a finger at Fred. “Just- Archie’s home now, isn’t that good?”

“You don’t understand,” Fred says, his voice taught with bushed tears.

“What don’t I understand, Freddy?”

“I just- Every time Archie leaves the house,” he pauses, hesitating. “It’s like I can’t breathe, because I don’t know if he’ll come home." 

“Fred, he’s safe now,” FP says, sitting on the couch next to him.

“Yeah, but for how long? How long until Hiram Lodge frames him for something else? Or kills him?”

“Hey, that’s not going to happen.  _We’re not going to let that happen_ ,” FP says.

“It’s my job to keep him safe, and I couldn’t do that.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen, Fred.”

“I should’ve!” Fred shouts louder than he meant.

“Fred-.”

“I’m sorry,” Fred says, looking up with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

FP pulls Fred close, holding him against his chest. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” FP says.

“I’m sorry,” Fred says again, like a mantra. “I’m sorry, F.”

“Shh,” FP soothes, “Let it out. It’s okay.”

FP lets Fred cry, holding him as he repeats the phrase over and over again, like he’s in another world, like he’s lost control. He feels safe in FP’s arms, he always has, but the pit in his stomach doesn’t falter.

“I’m sorry,” Fred says again, hoping this time it’ll make him feel better. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It happens. It’s no big deal, Freddy. I promise.” 

“I scared the boys,” Fred mumbles into FP’s chest.

“It’s okay. Jughead’s seen worse,” FP says.

“Archie…”

“Archie’ll be okay,” FP says, letting Fred out of the embrace. “He just worries about you. He loves you.”

Fred nods and shoves his palms into his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Fred says, drying his eyes with his palms. “You should go.”

FP raises his eyebrows.

“Really,” Fred says. “We’ll be okay."

FP nods, moving towards the stairs. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Call off work,” he says, not giving Fred the chance to argue. “You need to rest. And hey,” FP says, getting Fred to turn to face him. “Talk to your boy,” he says as he cups Fred’s face with his hand. “He worries about you.”

Fred nods. “I’m sor-,” he starts, but FP cuts him off. 

“No. No more of that. You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me?” He moves back towards Fred, wrapping him up in an embrace. This time, Fred feels the pit in his stomach start to vanish. “It’s okay not to be okay, you know? You have to take care of yourself, let us take care of you, alright?”

“Yeah,” Fred says, voice raspy. 

“Good,” FP says, then turns to call Jughead downstairs. “Hey,” FP says again, getting Fred’s attention. “I love you, Freddy.” He says it casually, just tosses it out like it wasn’t something Fred hadn’t heard from him in years.

Fred turns, and for the first time in months, there’s a genuine smile on his face. “Love you too.”


End file.
